Closure

So I went out today and got myself some closure on everything.  You have to make a $100 deposit if you want a box at most casinos (in the bay area I think it was only $50) and I had a couple of them that obviously hadn't been accessed in months.  I figured if I didn't go soon, before I start working, it could end up being months or even years before I closed the things.  So after a few hours of getting stuff done this morning, I drove myself to the Hustler and actually sat down and played for...an hour and fifteen minutes.  That's right, that's how long I made it.  I got a scan, which extends my points another three months and lets me use my $300 of Hustler bucks to do a little Christmas shopping, and closed the box, pocketing $100.  But....

For the life of me, I cannot believe I just spent 8000 hours doing that.  Seriously, it is completely incomprehensible.  It's the worst imaginable environment you could ever put yourself in on a day to day basis, and I was at Hustler where honestly the people are not that bad.  My session was unbelievably boring (I think I won maybe 3.5 pots, and am pretty sure I didn't call a single raise), and within 40 minutes I found myself looking at the clocking wondering if I had an off by one error and had actually been there for an hour and a half.  But no, it had really only been 40 minutes and every single joke had already been made, every possible bit of small talk I could muster had been mustered, and it would normally just have been time to...what?  Put in my head phones?  Text on my phone?  Pay attention to the game?  Jeeze I just have no idea how I did it, only 2.5 months removed and it's a foreign concept to me.  Mama was falling asleep between every single hand; we had to roust her every time she got cards, and each time it was as if she had just woken up on Mars instead of the place she'd been for the last I don't know 35 hours straight or so.  The guy next to me wouldn't stop explaining why he did every single thing he did.  The guy across the way needed to critique every single hand.  Honestly it shouldn't have been that bad but it was under my skin and out of control within 3 laps.  I had to get out of there.  I went to the Bike, closed another box, pocketed another $100 and then drove home.

How on Earth did I do what I just did?  Why was I so blind?  What exactly was I trying to accomplish, what was I trying to chase?  It just makes no sense whatsoever.  Now I'm not saying the job I just took (yes, I accepted a job) is going to absolutely change my life and make me want to jump out of bed every day and sing with the birds, but it has to be better than what I was doing.  It simply has to be.  Four days ago I was cautiously optimistic, yesterday I would have said nervously optimistic, but now I am just straight up looking forward to it.  I hate to be so negative here at the end, but I simply have to be.  I enjoyed my poker career, truly enjoyed it, for less than half the time it was running.  Did I make some money?  Sure, sporadically and sometimes actually fantastically.  But was there any possible justification for all of it?  No way, just no way.  If you're reading this and are thinking about being a pro (or already are), I strongly urge you to consider all your options (all of them) before you make the plunge or just keep showing up to play for another day, week, month, year, decade.  Some people love it, but some people keep doing it because they have too much inertia or no other options.  You deserve a chance at being happy in life, and for only a very small group of people can poker provide that;  make sure you're one of them before you do something crazy.